Tomorrow Is Another Horrorshow Day
by Arthur Delapore
Summary: Scarlett falls in love with a young man at the State Prison. A Clockwork Orange and Gone With the Winds Crossover. This is a oneshot story, unless enough people review it favourably.


**Tomorrow Is Another Horrorshow Day**

_Note: It's one in the morning while I'm writing this. Also, it's a one-shot _Gone With the Wind_ and _Clockwork Orange_ fanfic. Hopefully, all this will account for its lunacy. I don't really intend to update this thing, but if I get enough encouraging reviews, I might relent. Otherwise, this will just be a one-shot affair._

Scarlett O'Hara, a lovely brunette in a red velvet dress, tapped her foot impatiently as she stood in the hall of the State Prison waiting for her turn to enter the reading room. After several minutes, the door opened and the prison chaplin came out, shaking his head.

"Seeing a group like that makes me sometimes wonder if there's any chance of salvation for those types," he sighed. "If they don't want it, they won't get it."

Scarlett nodded, a little curtly. "I came here to read a few…inspirational tidbits to the prisoners," she said. As she spoke, she bit her lip. For the true reason why she had come was because Melanie Wilkes also came to the State Prison to minister to the prisoners and Scarlett didn't dare let Melanie appear more saintly in front of either Ashley or Rhett Butler.

The prison chaplin didn't notice her guilty expression, however. "I hope you brought something hardcore," he muttered as he shuffled off. "I doubt even something like the _Necronomicon_ would scare those louses."

Scarlett watched his retreating figure with some trepidation. Was this really worth all the trouble, after all? Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to turn the doorknob of the reading room and stepped inside.

The inmates were all sitting on rows of benches. There were about twenty of them and most of them broke into rude sounds and snide remarks as she went by and took her place at the pulpit.

Taking a pamphlet out of her handbag, she opened it, feeling a little nervous with all the unsympathetic eyes of the prisoners turned on her.

"The…rituals of…the worshippers of Dagon?" she frowned and took a closer look at the cover of the pamphlet she had absent-mindedly picked up from Ashley's library as reading material. "The _Liber Ivonis_?" she repeated the name in surprise. What sort of things did Ashley read? This sounded utterly bizarre. "Some inspirational tidbits these are," she muttered.

"Hey, lady, get on with it," called out one of the prisoners in the front row directly underneath her.

Scarlett whacked him on the head with her matching red velvet umbrella. "I'm going to start when I'm good and ready," she snapped. Then, clearing her throat, she began, "The rituals of the…er…worshippers of Dagon. It is said that during the early times of our planet, before humans even existed, there were creatures that came from the outer planets and from the deepest parts of the sea." _Hmm…_she thought. _No wonder Ashley is such an airhead sometimes. This is the sort of thing he spends his time reading._ She continued, "These beings became much like present-day humans. There were differences, however. Their skin was flaky and perpetually slimy. And their eyes were…" her voice trailed off as her own eyes unconsciously wandered up towards her audience of convicts. As if fate itself was directing her, she found her gaze fastened on a young man sitting towards the front of the row of benches. He had fair hair like spun gold, blue eyes, and full, luscious lips that made Scarlett's own lips tremble with unholy desire. She sought control of herself.

"Ahem…yes," she searched frantically for her place in the _Liber Ivonis_. "Their eyes were…large and bulging. Er—and that's the end of our reading today." She closed the pamphlet and stuffed it back in her handbag.

"That's some weird piece of writin', lady," one of the prisoners muttered.

"Right, shuffle out _NOW _in single-line, you dirty _LOT_," barked the prison guard, a middle-aged man with a tooth-brush moustache and a perpetual glower.

Scarlett watched as the young man she had noticed before followed the rest of the convicts towards the door of the reading room.

"Who is that man?" she asked the prison guard, pointing to him.

"That is prisoner six double five three two one," the prison guard replied loudly. "I wouldn't advise you to speak to him, madam. A dirty scoundrel he is with a record of hooliganism unmatched by _few_—"

"Fiddle-de-dee," Scarlett said and hurried up to the strange young man.

"And how did you like my reading?" she asked.

The young man, with a smirk that looked strangely becoming on his unconventionally handsome face, gave her the once-over and then replied, "Oh, it was real horrorshow, miss. Zammechat and eldritch slovos thou hast chosen for thy droog to slooshy, verily."

Scarlett frowned. "What?"

"Appy polly loggies, can it be that thou knowest not Nadsat?" he inquired with a delicate, side-long smirk.

"Nadsat, what's that?" Scarlett asked.

"A sort of slang," he replied.

"Hmmm…" Scarlett said, still studying him. She found herself strangely attracted to not only his physical appearance but his strange form of speech and his peculiar type of British accent. Also, his cocky demeanour was endearing to her.

"Hast thou anything else that thou wishest to govoreet?" the young man asked.

"Well—" Scarlett began with a coy smile.

"Katie _Scarlett_, what are ye doin' here? And who is that young fellow ye are speakin' to?"

Scarlett jumped. "Father!" she said irritably. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Keepin' an eye out for ye," Mr. O'Hara said. "Melanie has come over herself to see how things are a-goin' and also to start her own bit 'o charity work over here."

"Well, that's very nice, father," Scarlett said absent-mindedly, still casting side-long glances at the attractive six double five three two one. "What's your name, by the way?" she asked him.

"Alexander de Large," he said. "Or Alex, if you prefer, sweet devotchka."

Scarlett giggled a bit at this.

"Oh, Scarlett, how are you?" she heard Melanie's troubled voice behind her.

"Melanie!" she said in exasperation. "I'm fine, of course."

"I came here to bring warm milk for the suffering souls here," Melanie gazed with tenderness at the prisoners who scowled at the cart of milk bottles that she had wheeled into the reading room. However, Alex's face brightened.

"Why, a true and bolshy saint thou art, madam," he declared. "I happen to be in the mood for a malenky spot of moloko."

"Oh, you poor boy," Melanie said soothingly, reaching out to pat him on the head.

"Don't _touch _him!" Scarlett snapped.

Melanie quickly drew her hand back. "Oh, I am sorry, Scarlett," she said. She began handing out milk bottles. Scarlett snatched one and with a coy smile, handed it to Alex.

"Thank you," he said, returning her smile. He drained the contents of the milk bottle rather swiftly with a satisfied air. "So why is it that a nice devotchka such as yourself should take such an interest in a naughty malchik such as me?" he asked.

Scarlett pretended to play with her curls and act nonchalant, batting her eyelashes at him. "Oh, I just felt like conversation," she said with a giggle.

"_Katie Scarlett!_" Mr. O'Hara grumbled. "The Wilkes will be expectin' us to be at their house for dinner. Young Melanie has already been and gone. It's time for ye to do the same."

"Oh, fiddle-de-dee," Scarlett said. Then she sighed, "Well, I'll come back."

"That would be real horrorshow," Alex said. "I'll be counting the minootas off, I assure you."

Scarlett blushed. _This is so much better than that Rhett Butler_, thought she.

"Yes, I'll be back," she said as she followed Mr. O'Hara out of the prison reading room.


End file.
